


Coming True

by Fishwichformylove



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Human AU, M/M, Message in a bottle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-17 21:36:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9347339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fishwichformylove/pseuds/Fishwichformylove
Summary: On his sixteenth birthday, Arthur Kirkland makes one last wish before he has to grow up. Little does he know that his actions will inspire the journey of someone an ocean away. After all, magic is only good if it can be shared.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is old. As in it's the second or third story I wrote back in 2010 when this writing thing first started for me. I never transferred it over here, and I figured it was time. So it sounds and feels different from my more current stuff, but for the sake of preserving it I've left it as it was originally written and posted on FFN and tumblr. 
> 
> Hope you get a kick out of it!

_If you're ever going to wish for something, you'd best do it now. You only get one chance to be sixteen and then time's gone and you're an adult and then everything goes to shit. So do it now, Arthur. I know you think you have to act like a grown-up and be pissy all the time, but you're just a boy. You're my boy and I miss you everyday even though I know how furious you are with me for leaving. I love you so much, Arthur, and I want you to be happy now. Wish for something outrageous, something you don't think you deserve. I'm not saying your wish will be granted, but if there was ever a time of magic in your life, it'll be ending soon, believe me. Don't waste what's left, love._

_Happy Birthday,_

_Mum_

Arthur read the card twice, and then took the twenty pound note that had been inside, shoving it in his pocket. He wandered over to a trashbin and held the card over it for a moment before deciding better of it and tucking it into the pocket on the front of his sweatshirt.

Lighting a cigarette, he sat down on the cold cement of the alleyway and tilted his head up toward the sky to imagine the stars that might have been hidden behind the clouds and smog and vaporized sadness of the city. His stomach growled angrily, unsatisfied by the nicotine, and Arthur drew his knees up to make the feeling of emptiness go away. Arthur pulled his backpack over and rummaged through the extra clothing and books inside until he found the liquor bottle he'd stolen from his older brother before leaving the apartment. A few generous swigs did little to quell his hunger, but he was becoming so warm he hardly minded it anymore.

He sang happy birthday to himself as he smoked and drank and tried not to think too much about his mother. It had been three years since he had seen her, and he had no idea where she was or who she was with. There were never any return addresses on her rare letters or post cards, but if she could spare money, then Arthur figured she might not be doing too poorly. His stomach clenched painfully again, and Arthur debated using the money to buy something to eat until he realized that there was very little likelihood of anything being open so late.

Besides, just getting something to eat didn't seem like a special enough thing to use the money for, even if it was just a part. _If you're ever going to wish for something, you'd best do it now._ If nothing else, his mother had managed to instill a healthy respect for, perhaps even belief in, possibility beyond what could be seen, or as she called it, magic. Not that Arthur pretended to see faeries and unicorns anymore (or at least, not very often), but the idea of some force greater than human imagination was comforting. This was wish money. He had to do something important with it or else he'd just go back home in the morning and end up getting it taken from him.

Arthur downed the rest of the liquor in one go, and his eyes watered from the burn. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and tried to think of a wish. There were a million things he wanted, but he couldn't think of a single thing worth using a wish for. If his mother was right and all the magic in his life would soon be gone, then this was a very serious matter. He couldn't waste a wish on something frivolous. The more he thought about it, the more discouraged he became. Not only did he not have a solid wish, but he didn't have any of the proper wishing instruments. There were no birthday candles to blow out, no dandelions, no wells, and no shooting stars that he could see. All he had was a cigarette lighter and an empty bottle, and Arthur doubted either of those things counted for much in this situation.

Arthur rolled the bottle across his palm a few times. He lurched his arm back and made to throw it down the alley just to hear the crash it would make, but a thought stopped him. Arthur scrabbled around on the cement until he found the screw top to the bottle and considered his options. He could chuck the bottle and feel better having destroyed something useless, or he could turn it into a wish.

He dug around in his backpack again until he found his notebook and a pencil. It took him awhile to find a stretch of blank ages amongst the poems and short stories and doodles covering the lined pages, but finally he found a suitable spot to begin.

_Hello. My name is Arthur Kirkland. I live in London, England and today is my sixteenth birthday._

Arthur paused, chewing on his thumb while he tried to think of what else to write.

Twenty minutes later he had filled four pages, front and back, with his story. He wrote down everything: details about his family, how he'd felt when his mother had left, the difficulty he was having in school, his growing loneliness, his hopes and dreams for the future. All he had left to do was make a wish.

_If anyone should find this, however unlikely that is, and if that person should have happened to read through everything, which is also unlikely, I just want to say one last thing. Everything I believe in is coming down around my head and I need one foolish adventure before I grow up. So this is my birthday wish: if you, you reading this, feel like I feel, then we should meet. Come find me and take me away from here. I mean, I guess you don't have to, if you don't want. I know I probably couldn't be arsed to help out a little fuck like me. For all I know this message could wash up somewhere that no one reads English. But it doesn't matter. I don't care who you are or where you're from or how old you are. If you can get here, get here, and then we can go anywhere we like and nothing will stop us. There's magic in wishes, but I don't want it unless I can share it with someone._

Arthur scribbled down information on how to find him and drew a small map before rolling all the sheets of paper into a neat tube and popping it into the bottle. He screwed the lid on tight and closed his eyes sending out every positive thought he could to make his wish come true. Swaying slightly as he stood, Arthur gathered up his bag and began walking towards the Thames. It would be long walk, but he didn't know what else to do. You were supposed to throw messages like this into the sea, but that was at least two hours away and he had no way to get there. Arthur tucked the bottle under his arm and shoved his cold fingers into the pockets of his torn jeans.

It took his tired, tipsy brain a moment to register the feeling of the money in his pocket. Wish money. Getaway money. Arthur pulled the wadded up note out and checked his bag for any other currency. All he found were a few fifty pence coins and a ball of lint, but a plan was beginning to form in his mind. Buses were leaving the city all the time, buses that might go to Brighton or somewhere like that, somewhere with actual seaside. All he had to do was get to a bus depot, wait until the right bus came along, pray he had enough money or could talk his way on and he could be sending off his wish the proper way within a few hours' time.

Of course then he would be stranded in some town if he didn't have enough money for fare back to London. He would have to risk hitching a ride or, worse, call his brother to get him. Then he'd be sure to get a beating, if his brother bothered to pick him up at all.

Even if he did manage to make it to the ocean, what did he really expect to happen? His bottle would sink or get piled up with a bunch of garbage somewhere. The odds of it making it out to open waters and then washing up where someone could find it were so incredibly tiny that Arthur felt his eyes prick with frustrated tears just imagining all the terrible things that could happen to his wish. And what if someone did find it and thought he was an idiot? Maybe someone worse off would read it and decide that Arthur was a whiny brat and they would never come meet him. It was a stupid idea.

"No it is not!"

Arthur's hand flew to cover his mouth and he was mortified that he had spoken aloud in response to his own thoughts. But a small knot of confidence pulled in his chest and he threw his head back and yelled "No it is not!" over and over until he was out of breath and a dog in one of the nearby apartments was going mad barking at him.

"My wishes aren't stupid."

Nodding to himself, Arthur shouldered his backpack once more and took a deep breath. It was time he made some magic for himself.

* * *

 

All in all, Alfred F. Jones was having a pretty good birthday. He'd gotten cake and presents and now his entire family was going to watch fireworks on the beach. The fireworks weren't for him, but it felt special anyway. Alfred's dad always said that a boy born on the Fourth of July had to be destined to do something big in his life, and Alfred took that idea very seriously.

But Alfred was only fourteen years old. He was only just going to be starting high school in the fall, and he had no idea what he wanted to do with his life. His brother, Matthew, seemed to have it all figured out and he was only a year older than Alfred. Everyone treated Matthew like he was so mature and smart, and like Alfred was the dumb baby of the family. They had gone on this trip partially to visit their grandma and while she gave Matthew a hug and a fifty dollar bill for his birthday a few days previous, she just patted Alfred on the head and referred to him as "Alfie" for their entire stay. To be fair, Alfred didn't like his grandma much anyway; she thought cough drops were the same as candy and she had way too many cats and her couches were covered in plastic.

Alfred huffed and dug his toes further into the sand. He kept piling it on until he couldn't feel his feet anymore even if he wiggled his toes. He tried to walk right through the mounds and break free, but he was stuck and he ended up losing his balance and falling right on his ass.

"What are doing, Al?" Matthew had been watching his struggle from the beach blanket a few feet away.

"Nothing. Just dickin' around."

"Alfred Jones, watch your mouth!"

Alfred rolled his eyes, but slapped on a contrite smile for show. "Sorry, Mom."

He brushed himself off and looked toward the pier where a crew was finishing with the fireworks.

"Hey, Mom? Imma go walk over there, okay? Just to look."

"I don't know… it might be dangerous. Mattie, go with him."

"Oh my god, Mom, I'm just going to go look! Besides, if it's so dangerous why would you send both your precious sons to their deaths?"

Alfred's mother pursed her lips and arched an eyebrow to communicate how thoroughly unamused she was, but she shrugged and waved a hand dismissively.

"Fine, kiddo, but you had better be back before the thing starts. I don't want you under there when the fireworks are going off, are we clear? And take a jacket. It's getting cold."

"Mom, it's Florida. It never gets cold. That's why all the old people and reptiles like it."

"Just do as I ask."

"Daaaaaaad!"

"Boy, do what your mother says."

It only took a flash of a stern glare before Alfred was pulling his jacket out of his bag. He trotted off toward the pier again, faintly catching his mother making a remark to his father.

"That boy needs some focus in his life, I swear."

Alfred frowned to himself. _Alfred needs focus, Alfred needs purpose, when are you going to act your age, Alfred?_ It wasn't fair. How was he supposed to know what he wanted? It wasn't like he was going to be a grown up tomorrow. He still had time, right? Maybe he would just join the military after high school like his dad wanted. He liked science and technology and that kind of stuff, so maybe it wouldn't be too bad.

The crew on the pier didn't pay him any mind so Alfred just stood and watched them set up for a little while before going to walk underneath. The sand got colder and wetter and Alfred wished he had put his shoes back on. The pier creaked over his head and the sad moans made his skin crawl. He imagined the entire thing collapsing right on top of him, or maybe the fireworks going off and catching it on fire. Or maybe a giant wave would come out of nowhere and drag Alfred out to sea to be eaten by sharks or something.

Alfred poked around the sand, looking for shells or fallen coins or anything interesting. There was a giant clump of seaweed and garbage a few feet away, but it smelled so awful that Alfred didn't want to go near it. A light from the workers above shone through the wooden slats of the pier for a moment and Alfred saw a glint of something long and smooth near the seaweed. Covering his nose with his balled up jacket, Alfred got as close to the dank clump as he could stand and made a grab for the object.

It was a bottle; kind of brown, but with weathering that had turned once plain glass into something cloudy and ethereal looking. Alfred couldn't see the contents so he shook it a few times. There were no sloshing noises or pings against the inside, but he could feel that there was definitely something in there. Moving away from the seaweed to sit on the damp sand, Alfred opened the bottle, turned it over and shook.

A crinkly tube of paper fell out onto his lap and Alfred grew giddy with excitement. Maybe it was treasure map or a secret message or an SOS! He unrolled the top edge slowly, trying to be gentle with the crackling pages turned fragile by age and sun.

The date on the top of the first sheet of paper took him by surprise; whatever the message was, it was over two years old. Someone with less than perfect handwriting had written it on cheap lined paper in smudgy pencil. Alfred unrolled the papers a little more and read the first line.

_Hello. My name is Arthur Kirkland._

**BOOOOM!**

"Fuck!"

Alfred dropped the papers and covered his ears, knocked flat on his back from shock. Through the slats of the pier he could see the first glittering firework disintegrating in the sky.

"Shitshitshitshitshit."

Scrambling to gather up the bottle and shove the letter back inside, Alfred tripped over himself as he ran from the pier. As he neared his family, he felt a sickly twinge in his stomach and decided to roll the bottle up in his jacket. This was something he didn't feel like sharing with anyone else, even if he couldn't quite understand why.

His mother gave him an earful when he got back, but Alfred wasn't really listening, thinking instead of the letter he had yet to read and Arthur Kirkland. He kept the bottle rolled in his jacket the entire night, then shoved it in his suitcase when they got back to the hotel. It was another three days before they were finally back home in New York and Alfred could lock himself in his room and read the letter.

That same afternoon Alfred gathered up all the loose money he had and put it into a sock, hiding it in his underwear drawer. He began hoarding his weekly allowance instead of spending it on fast food and comic books. He went around to the neighbors and asked if there were any odd jobs he could do for a little cash. Birthday and Christmas money remained untouched, and soon Alfred had a half dozen socks filled with cash in his underwear drawer. Eventually he transferred it all to a giant empty coffee can with "DO NOT OPEN" written across the top in black marker and "ENGLAND" written across the side.

As soon as he turned sixteen, Alfred got a job at an ice cream parlour and then another at a record store. He hated them both, because of the itchy uniform and pretentious customers respectively, but anytime he felt discouraged he would pull out Arthur Kirkland's letter and read it from start to finish. There was no reason he should carry it around considering he had long since memorized it, but it acted as a physical reminder of why he had to work so hard.

Boys born on the Fourth of July were meant to do something great, were born to make a difference. Alfred may not have had any idea what he wanted to do with his life, but this seemed like a good start. After a thousand times reading the letter, Alfred felt like he knew this Kirkland guy better than he knew half of his so-called friends at school. Just thinking about him and his situation made Alfred's heart start to race and his face would get red all the way up to his ears simply because he was so sad and angry that he couldn't help Arthur right away. He'd searched the Internet for someone by that name, but it seemed that this Arthur didn't have an account on any of the common social networking sites. So now Alfred had to wait until he could go to England and meet Arthur in person, if it wasn't too late.

Alfred needed this. He needed this purpose and he needed to feel like someone needed him. This Arthur Kirkland guy didn't know it, but he was about to get his wish granted.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this is an old, old, old, old, old story, from the times way super long before I had an AO3. So if it sounds and feels different, that's why. Hate it or love it or don't care either way, I have left it as originally written.

Arthur spent the first few weeks after chucking the bottle into the ocean in a constant state of nervousness. He couldn't help feeling foolish for doing it, yet hopeful that something wonderful would come of it. Although he knew it was highly unlikely that anyone would have found the bottle yet, Arthur waited patiently every Thursday from 4pm to 5pm at the café he had decided upon for a meeting spot. It would have been absurd for him to have put his home address; if anyone had ever come calling for him there, they might have been scared away by Arthur's brothers, or worse yet, Arthur might not be living there any more.

Months passed. Arthur spent each Thursday afternoon inside the café, waiting and nursing the cheapest cup of tea he could get just to avoid being kicked out. Every week when no one showed up to see him, Arthur would get more and more discouraged, but still he couldn't bring himself to give up on his wish. Eventually the owner of the café started trying to talk to Arthur, asking why he came in at the same time every week and what he was waiting for, where he was from, was he in school? Arthur wasn't forthcoming with much personal information, but he took a gradual liking to the owner, enough that when he was offered a job at the café, he took it gladly, provided he got off by 4pm on Thursdays.

A year later Arthur was making decent money. The customers seemed to like him well enough that he made a good amount in tips and his skill for making art in the foam of lattes and hot chocolates earned him a raise. His boss had fast learned not to let Arthur anywhere near the ovens, but any other tasks that needed doing were quickly and skilfully done.

Arthur never stopped waiting for someone to come for him. Even years later, when he had long since quit his job at the café and begun working in the university library, when he had saved enough money to get his own flat and go back to school, when he had been accepted for a paid internship at an editing company, when he was finally living a life close to what he had always wanted, Arthur never stopped spending his Thursday afternoons in the café. Over time it became less about his wish, and more of a habit. In his heart of hearts, he was hopeful, but his life had changed enough since his sixteenth birthday that sometimes he thought that the magic had already happened.

Still, it was Thursday, and there was no sense giving up on tradition.

"Here's your tea, Mr. Kirkland."

Arthur spared the pretty young waitress a smile, and fished a generous tip out of his wallet. It was no secret that she was sweet on him, but Arthur wasn't really interested. Dating and romance did not appeal to him beyond the drivel he read in his adult novels. Still, it wouldn't hurt him too badly to be nice.

"Thank you, Jenny. And please, call me _Arthur_."

Jenny tittered and flipped a hand through her long brunette ponytail. "Oh right, sorry. Well, let me know if you need anything else, Arthur."

Arthur dismissed her with another polite smile, took a sip of his tea, and then bent to pull a manuscript he was editing from his bag. He read for a few minutes and was just about to circle an egregious grammatical error when a shadow fell across his table.

"Excuse me, uh, Arthur? Arthur Kirkland?"

Arthur looked up the tall form to a face he didn't recognize. It was a young man, probably not much younger than Arthur was; Arthur was completely taken aback by the intensity with which this stranger was looking at him. He had a life and death expression on face, as if knowing whether or not Arthur was in fact Arthur Kirkland was the most important thing in the world.

"Yes? I- I'm sorry, but have we met before?" Arthur already knew the answer would be no. He didn't know any tall, intense, good-looking men with American accents.

"No! I mean, not really. Shit, I mean- I found this."

It took Arthur several moments to process the fact that this stranger had just placed a worn bottle before him. Arthur's brain short-circuited and sheer electricity raced down the surface of his body. His heart-rate skyrocketed and he found himself panicking to take a breath, mouth gaping, eyes shooting back and forth between the bottle and the stranger's face.

"Christ, that's… I can't… Who are you?"

The stranger flashed him a smile that managed to seem both excited and pitying.

"My name is Alfred F. Jones and I'm here to make your wish come true. Happy belated birthday!"

* * *

 

Alfred was forced to strike quite a bargain to accomplish his quest. His senior year of high school he finally told his parents he was planning on taking a year off to go to Europe. He didn't give them any of the details concerning Arthur Kirkland, but he told them that he had all the money he needed and he would go once he was eighteen whether they liked it or not, and he would go alone.

Naturally there was some shouting after that, but seeing as he would be a legal adult with his own funds, his parents had no choice but to allow it in the end. But there was a catch: Alfred could have his year in Europe if he promised to go into the military when he got back. His father had been particularly adamant that if Alfred ever expected to get any sort of support from the family again, he had better come back from his trip completely focused and obedient.

Alfred agreed. He wished that he didn't have to, but anything could happen in a year and he would need a place to fall back to if things didn't go the way he wanted with Arthur Kirkland.

He wasn't exactly sure what he wanted to happen. Well, optimally, he would find him and they would talk and then they would go on some crazy adventure and end up as best friends. Arthur would finally get his birthday wish and Alfred would feel good about himself for coming to his rescue. But there were a million other ways things could go. What if he never found Arthur? Or what if Arthur didn't trust him or even like him? Alfred laid awake in his bed for nights before his departure, rehearsing everything he could possibly say to Arthur Kirkland to make him understand why he was doing all of this.

The first week he was in London, Alfred couldn't muster up the courage to go to the address in the letter. When the designated time came, Alfred paced back and forth in his tiny hotel room, flinching as each minute passed and then it was 5pm and he'd missed his chance. He'd almost chickened out the second week as well, but the thought of Arthur Kirkland sitting alone and waiting as yet another day went by without rescue was enough to make Alfred come to his senses. He didn't want to make Arthur wait a second longer.

As Alfred sat nursing a cup of coffee in the corner of the café, he sized up the male patrons, trying to determine which of them, if any, was Arthur Kirkland. It was strange to think that the Arthur he was trying to find would be nearly twenty-three instead of the sixteen-year-old boy to whom Alfred had grown so inexplicably attached through the letter. There were a handful of men who fit the age range, but for whatever reason, Alfred didn't feel like they were the right person. They didn't give off the right vibe and Alfred felt like he would know instantly if he saw Arthur.

"Here's your tea, Mr. Kirkland."

Alfred's head shot up and he looked toward the direction of the voice.

"Thank you, Jenny. And please, call me Arthur."

Arthur? Could it be his Arthur? Alfred craned his neck to try to get a good look at the guy, but his back was towards him. In his preliminary screening of men in the room, Alfred had discounted this particular person because he seemed to be dressed like a middle-aged man, but as he examined him more closely he could see that he was wrong. The man was wearing a collared shirt and a sweater-vest, but his jeans were tight and trendy and it looked like he had several ear piercings. He bent over the table to get something out of his bag and his shirt rode up enough that Alfred could see a portion what looked like a tattoo of a guitar over his left hip. Alfred downed the rest of his coffee to steel his nerves, took a deep breath and walked over to the man's table.

"Excuse me, uh, Arthur? Arthur Kirkland?"

This had to be him. It had to be. Alfred didn't even need to hear a response; he just knew. A mature demeanour, but a young looking face, messy blonde hair, wide green eyes- if Alfred could have imagined anyone in the world to be Arthur before actually meeting him, he would have chosen this exact look. Well, maybe not the big eyebrows, but even those were so right that Alfred couldn't imagine Arthur looking any other way.

"Yes? I- I'm sorry, but have we met before?"

The stud of a tongue ring clicked gently in Arthur's mouth as he spoke. Alfred was mesmerized by his accent and found himself watching Arthur's mouth instead of saying all the charming, heroic introductory lines he had practised.

"No! I mean, not really. Shit, I mean- I found this."

Arthur's reaction to the bottle was almost instantaneous. His body tensed up and he braced his hands on the arms of his chair as if he might make a break for it at any second. Arthur's face drained of colour before flushing up to his ears and his breathing was coming in such fast little pants that Alfred was afraid he was having a panic attack. He resisted the urge to touch Arthur on the arm reassuringly, even if all he wanted to do was comfort the startled man.

"Christ, that's… I can't… Who are you?"

Alfred tried to sound as confident and friendly as he could, extending his hand.

"My name is Alfred F. Jones and I'm here to make your wish come true. Happy belated birthday!"

Arthur shook his hand timidly, shoulders hunched up in obvious discomfort.

"I, uh, well, thank you. Please, won't you, er, have a seat, yes?"

They sat in an awkward silence for several moments, Alfred fighting to stay smiling and brave and Arthur looking like he wanted to die.

"So, you're from America, then?"

"It's that obvious, huh?" Alfred was trying to sound casual and playful, but his voice kept cracking and he cleared his throat. "I'm from New York, so, yeah."

Arthur's mouth opened and closed a few times as if he were going to say something but didn't know how to phrase it.

"Is that where you found the, um…?" He indicated the bottle.

"No, actually, I found it in Florida about five years ago. Had to save up to come see you."

"My God, Florida? I don't… What are the odds of that even…?"

Alfred laughed good-naturedly at Arthur's fumbling. "Yeah, like a gazillion to one, probably. But hey, here I am!"

Arthur stared at him in amazement for a moment before jolting back to his senses. "And Christ! I mean, you came here! You saved money and did _this_. I never actually thought anyone was going to find that thing, but you've had it for five years? This is just…"

"Amazing?"

"Completely fucking mad."

"Oh. Well that, too. I just, I don't know. I read it and I felt like I had to do this. I couldn't leave you hanging, I guess. I understood, like, I got what you were going through, kinda, and I just felt like I had to do something about it, y'know?"

Arthur didn't respond for a long time, looking at the bottle and refusing to meet Alfred's gaze.

"C'mon, man, you gotta say something. You're making me feel like a crazy stalker or something."

Shaking his head, Arthur looked up. "You are crazy. I mean, that is, you're very kind and brave for coming here, but you're absolutely mental."

"So, are you not glad I came?"

"No, that's just it, I'm ecstatic! But you have to understand how awkward this is for me. You know everything about me. You know what wreck I am and what my deepest wishes are and you're a complete stranger from an ocean away! I'm mortified and I have no idea how to thank you."

"Hey! Don't be embarrassed! I think it's awesome that you took a chance like that. You just put it all out there and let the universe or karma or whatever take care of it. It inspired me. I had to get away, too, and you're right: it's no good if you can't share it with someone."

Arthur ducked his head down sheepishly. "So, Alfred F. Jones. What do we do now? "

Alfred cleared his throat and sat back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head comfortably.

"Okay. Here's the deal. I have a load of cash saved up and ready to blow and one year to go anywhere and I want to do it with you. You waited seven years for someone to come save you, so the least I can do is give you one in return. I mean it. If you ask, we'll go anywhere and do anything and it will be amazing, I promise."

"But we're strangers! That's completely absurd, Jones! We can't just take off for a year when we barely know each other and I certainly can't ask you to spend your money on me!"

"We _aren't_ strangers. I know everything about you, remember? And anything you want to know about me, you just have to ask. What do you really have tying you down that you can't let your own wish come true? Take another chance, Arthur. I swear it will be worth it."

"What do I have tying me down? My job, for one! I can't just walk away from my life here, however much I may have wanted to back then. I was sixteen years old, Alfred. As much as I appreciate you doing all of this, it was just something stupid I did when I was still a child!"

"Fuck your job! You can get another when we get back." Alfred leaned forward and grabbed Arthur's hands. "I don't care how old you were, or who you are now. Your wishes aren't stupid, Arthur!"

Arthur flinched, but didn't pull his hands away. He stared Alfred down, and Alfred shivered at the clarity and intensity of his gaze. He didn't think he could ever lie to Arthur even if wanted to; there was no way those eyes wouldn't see right through him. Slowly the tension in Arthur's shoulders released and his expression warmed. Alfred could have sworn there were the beginnings of tears in Arthur's eyes, but any signs of sadness were obliterated as Arthur smiled for the first time in their conversation. It was completely unguarded and genuine and Alfred felt a burst of something akin to butterflies erupt in his stomach.

"Alright, you glorious fool. I'll go with you. But don't think for a second I'm not helping pay for everything. I'm already indebted to you as it is."

"Don't worry about it. I'm doing this just as much for myself as I am for you. I'm a little too selfish to be a total hero."

Arthur laughed and pulled a hand away to rub his eyes. He almost went to join hands with Alfred again, but caught himself. Alfred wasn't sure why that disappointed him, but he was grinning from ear to ear anyway.

"So. I have a very important question for you, Arthur Kirkland. Where would you like to go?"

Alfred followed Arthur's gaze as the latter turned to look out the window of the café. It had started to drizzle and pavement was rapidly becoming a jewelled mirror beneath the cars that flew past. Alfred watched as Arthur's eyes tracked the progress of a single drop of water against the window pane, long black lashes brushing the tops of his cheeks when it reached the bottom. Arthur seemed to smile to himself, as if remembering a funny joke he had heard a long time ago, and then he turned back to Alfred.

"Everywhere."


End file.
